This song is for Pete Seeger and the Water Protectors, b/c our job is not now, nor will it ever be over.

A few years ago I had the opportunity to attend a Clearwater meeting w one of our Great Water Protectors here in the Hudson Valley – Pete Seeger. He asked us to write a song that everybody could sing.

I have lived here my entire life. I know this valley, its waters, its lands, its animals and its people.

Traveling home down the winding Rt 9, the old narrow road snaked thru the mountains and gazed down at the Hudson River, I wrote this song. This song is for Pete Seeger and the Water Protectors, b/c our job is not now, nor will it ever be over.

Back to the River

let’s go back to the river so we can swim

let’s go back to the river so we can drink

let’s go back to the river so we can sail away on the Clearwater on a clear day

back to our valley and our trees

back to the organic gardens and the bees

back to the healthy land under our feet

the land that was made for you and me

let’s give the mountain back to the bear

let’s give the clean back to the air

let’s give the fresh back to water in our streams

the streams that were made for you and me

let’s give life back to the land

let’s give work back to our hands

let’s give hope back to the words that we sing

the songs that are sung by you and me

let’s put love back in our speech

let’s put promise back in our reach

we will live in harmony

with this land that was made for you and me

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The Last Waltz – 40 years in Frisco

This is for those who have watched or listened to The Last Waltz up into the triple digits. Those who know every player by name, by album, by instrument, and by history.

The Last Waltz to me is the musical equivalent of fuzzy socks, a warm fire in a log cabin, and an endless glass of whiskey.

Fever in my chest

Ol Frisco fever night

Before the Flood

Starry night

Read your Testimony in the Northern Lights


Weight of Ages

Southern Sages

The Night they Drove Old Dixie’s mages

Feast Thanksgiving’s theater graces

on The Last Waltz plates

Testimony’s pages


I kneel beneath

Southern cross

I walk the line

to find lost voice


I testify

Fat mamma rag

Lead basement floor

The Last Waltz tap dance


Down the river drown

Mississippi Queen

Sing your river hymn

Forgiven Testimony


Clink your glasses stomp your feet

40 years Thanksgiving Anniversary treat


The Last Waltz

Time Machine

Penny to ride

Take a load for free

Robbie throw me the keys


Swamp fog rhythms

Done lay their hands on me

Good ol night

Lead weight hayride

Frisco summer daydream


I waltz with you

Under Winterland stars

Northern light sky above

Ring your bell echo heart



Mississippi Queen

I wrote our history down

in a Big Pink hedonistic dream


Before the flood

Swamp mist troubadour

Evangeline done broke my

Cripple fever heart


The night they drove old dixie down

I hung my head with lead weight crown

Cracked rung rusted wedding bells

Cold feet

Stage fright

Chest fever swells


Follow you down

Drown in the flood

Big mamma gonna keep you

Forever young

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Where do you find your song? Will the holes in your pockets leave you all alone?

Brick man rust red

Out on the street newspaper in his head

Full of words like railroad tracks

They pile up in numbered stacks

When the gypsy lady drowns out on her sinking ship

With the name of the dead man still tattooed on her lips

Let the wind whistle on her howling song

Will the lost words leave you all alone

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Poor Man’s Wife

Handing out and around poor man put your books away

with no teeth how can you eat today

Lend me just one minute of your toothless smile

step off this street-corner and give me just a minute of your time

I see your street that you call home

If I stand back I can hear the streetcar moan

The steam from the street has left me blind

As I stutter here I’ve been left behind

With the wise words that you preach

your written knowledge and toothless speech

I don’t wanna be a poor man’s wife

but you’ve offered me your brick-house and your life

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Where have all the Mad Ones Gone?

The Mad Ones. The Beats. The Inner Heat.

“We were all delighted, we all realized we were leaving confusion and nonsense behind and performing our one and noble function of the time, move.” -Jack Kerouac On the Road

“A frantic atmosphere- all kinds of characters talking fast, moving fast- some debonair, some rakish. Literary types w black beards, grim-faced intellectuals-eclectic girls, non-homemaker types. The kind of people who came from out of nowhere and go right back into it -a pistol-packing rabbi, a snaggle-toothed girl with a big crucifix between her breasts- all kinds of character looking for the inner heat.” –Chronicles -Bob Dylan

“…,because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…” –On the Road -Jack Kerouac

Lost Man out

Roadside dreaming

Inner heat

lost heart beating

Visions of the Mad Road nowhere

come on voice of echo call us to be there


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